Eventually, we're not gonna get carded

[Conrad Manne]

Conrad almost forgot to take off his white coat before he left the laboratory. It wouldn't have been the first time that had happened. Alex sometimes joked about how he should start paying rent to the school for living in the lab, but that's just how things went. He was the most junior of the researchers, and so it generally defaulted to him to do any residual cleanup at the end of the day. Sure, people washed their own equipment and stuff like that, but files tended to be stacked up on one table, and it was up to him to put them back where they were supposed to go. He didn't mind though, because he'd managed to get this gig about a year or two earlier than he should have.

Anyway, after a long day of observations and recording detailed notes--to be transcribed over the weekend, when he had time and could get some privacy--he was more than ready for his evening plans. Thomas, an old friend of his from Hammel, had just managed to land a job as a trainer. Though they were both at the bottom rungs of their respective departments, it was going to be cool to have someone else he remembered being a student with there. (Not to mention, with Alex away at University of Vermont all day and actually doing his homework or hanging out with Ann at night, it was going to be nice to have a friend who was around more.

Despite having to turn around to leave his white lab coat back at the school, the researcher got to the bar they'd agreed to meet at a little early. That was pretty par the course for him, so he wasn't surprised when Thomas wasn't there yet. He just went inside and ordered a cold beer to drink while he waited. Predictably, he got carded, and had a moment of panic where he thought he'd left his wallet in the lab coat. He was digging into his jeans pocket--yes, he didn't actually forget it--and apologizing to the bartender when his friend showed up. "Hey Thomas. How's it been?" He flashed a grin, then handed over his driver's liscence to the woman behind the bar. She looked at it, then at him, before deciding that if it was fake, it was convincing enough, and someone who apologized for not being able to produce it right away probably wasn't going to be any trouble.

[Thomas Lajoie]

He pulled out the canister as soon as he was sure the field was empty. He hated using his powers around unknowing people, the sight of blood is enough to send a lot of people into a fit of gags or to the floor unconscious. He was definitely alone though, the training field had far since been emptied of students, and he could spend some time outside practicing. He took the lid off the fat pen-like structure on his hand, pressed it to his finger and clicked the top. A sharp pinch in his finger let him know that the testing needle pricked him enough that he'd be able to pull out some blood, slowly.

After a few minutes of gliding his hand over his finger, about 200 millitres of blood had gathered in a flowing stream beneath his unscathed hand. He kept it waving and maintaining this stream, until he was comfortable with that amount and felt solid in his control. One would have no idea of his plan if they hadn't known it before, because the only thing accompanying Thomas was a wooden dowel, about the girth of a permanent marker, on the floor in front of him, standing on it's own before him. With one graceful gesture, he threw the blood just beside the dowel, and took position.

With finesse, he pulled up into a pirouette in front of the dowel, commanding the blood to turn before him and encircle the dowel loosely. He kicked out his leg and pulled it in tighter, spinning faster and tightening the blood around the dowel. He repeated this, kicking out his leg and pulling it in several times until he lost his footing and placed both feet on the ground. As soon as he stopped moving, the blood hit the pavement, revealing that the wood had been worn away, as if it had been chewed by a beaver, and was just millimeters wide where the blood had once been.

He was about to work the blood back up when he realized what time it was, and that he had made plans with Conrad soon. Leaving the blood and dowel where they were, he ran inside to change and made his way downtown in record speed.

Luckily, the time he spent underage in the area lent him to knowing it really well, and he made it just on time to find Conrad at the bar, with a beer. This was no surprised of course - if Thomas could figure out exactly how long it would take, at what speed necessary, to make it somewhere on time, he'd be ten minutes early everywhere too.

The grin and welcome were matched by his own, as he pulled out his ID for the bartender as well, and motioned to Conrad's beer. " Hey man!" he said, sitting beside him and patting his shoulder. "How's the lab!? How pumped are you?!" His beer had made it's way to his seat, and he took a long swig. It had been a while since he'd seen someone the guy before him. Finishing school a year early tends to do that to a persons social life, though.

[Conrad Manne]

Thankfully, the bartender didn't seem to have an issue with Thomas's ID either.

"The lab's been pretty good so far. They've got me buried under paperwork, but it's all just part of the job. They've also got me doing a lot of paperwork, but I'm doing actual research on my own project too." It was rough for him, all the paperwork. Though he could read well, he couldn't take notes without his digital recorder, and then it needed to be transcribed. It was work-intensive, but really, he loved his job. Between getting to work on his own project and being this close to his little brothers, it was really just perfect for him.

He grinned and took another long pull of his beer. Conrad hadn't seen Thomas in a long while. Granted, he hadn't seen most of his friends from Hammel outside the school since graduation. Most everyone had spread out, going back to their home turf to start establishing themselves back there, before it was time to head off to college. He'd gone strait to University, and through a lot of hard work--and giving up every break possible to squeeze more classes in--he'd managed to cram four years of classes into six semesters, then he'd gone straight to working at the school's lab.

"I'm pretty damn pumped. Especially since I'm hearing that you're getting a job too." He raised his bottle in a small salute, and deadpanned, "To the flourishing job market." Frankly, they were pretty lucky to be doing this well with the economy the way it was. Wherever Hammel got it's funding--and no, it didn't all quite add up, he'd checked once--a good chunk of it went to hiring staff from the alums. Which was good, if they wanted to train or do research. "So have you officially found out of you've got it yet?"

Conrad drank again, calculating how much beer he had left in this bottle, and how long it would last him. He usually didn't drink much, but it was his first time seeing Thomas in a while, and they were starting pretty early.

Good thing his and Alex's apartment was in walking distance.

[Thomas Lajoie]

He flashed a smile as he took another drink from his beer. His ID had never not worked, because he had enough friends that went downtown to give him one every time his hair or height made a drastic change. Today, his name was “John Malcavoy” - a name he could hardly pronounce - and was from Missouri. Hopefully the bartender took little notice, because the Quebec and Missouri accent weren’t exactly indistinguishable.

“Your own project?” he asked, actually unaware he had a little side project going. Thomas definitely had one. He was trying to grow a bonsai tree in his room. Really tricky stuff, watering and pruning. “If you ever need any help, you know I’m here, ah?” he added, meaning that he was always willing to be a guinea pig as he trusted Conrad more than a lot of the students he worked with. He would always offer to scribe for him as well, if it weren’t for Conrad’s determination in getting it done on his own. When you see someone with that level of independence, it’s hard not to just let them keep it up.

For Thomas, post secondary school was never a huge asset. He could see himself traveling around, doing odd jobs, or living the activist life in random cities. Or working at the school, helping people. Whatever he did, he knew it would be with helping people. He just couldn’t justify putting in the amount of time and money needed to get a degree in it.

Thomas’ eyes gleamed as Conrad mentioned his job as well. He clinked the neck of his bottle to Conrad’s, and took a swig before answering his question. “It’s official. I’m a Trainer-in-training! I am to work with a woman named ‘onor? ‘ave you ever ‘ad ‘er as a trainer?” he asked, not knowing many people who did. Her powers must have been quite different than his to have avoided being trained by her over his time at the school.

“Not all of us can be so smart, working in labs and going to school! I’m much better off teaching these kids how not to kill each udder.” Had he just said udder? Beer is the worst.

[Conrad Manne]

Conrad's ID was a valid Vermont drivers license, with his real name and birthday on it. Even before he had turned 21, the researcher had never owned a fake ID. It was one of those things he thought was just too risky, and he hadn't drunk much at University at all. With the overfull courseload he'd taken on, he hadn't had time for partying. His first night of actually drinking had been his 21st birthday, courtesy of Alex. (Though Alex was only 19, Conrad hadn't asked where he'd acquired the booze.)

"Yeah, it's going to be published and everything! It's an analytical breakdown of the raw energy outputs produced by students at different levels of training and with different abilities." As he rambled--it was Thomas's fault, he got him started on his research--he leaned in and dropped his voice a little lower. Despite the fairly early hour, they weren't the only ones in the bar, but it looked like they were they only Hammel staff there. "I've got about seventy pages of raw statistics right now, so I need a lot more data from people with more experience. It would be great if you could help me out." The way Thomas used his power was very interesting. That kinetic energy from the dancing had to factor in somehow.

Of course, when Connie realized he was rambling, he shut up pretty quick. "Sorry about that. I can probably talk for hours on it."

He drank as well, and it was Thomas's turn to ask a question.The researcher had to think for a moment, but no, he couldn't place an Honor. (He assumed that was what is friend was saying. He wasn't a perfect interpreter, but he understood the accent about 95% of the time. "I never had her, and I haven't worked with any of her kids so far. But that's awesome! How long does the training last?" He took another pull of his beer and motioned to the bartender to bring two more bottles over. They weren't done yet, but they would be soon enough. "Hey, they need as much help as they can get for that. You're gonna be impressed by how much havoc they can cause on a good day."

[Thomas Lajoie]

Conrad was one of the most relaxed people Thomas knew, certainly less excitable than the bumbling mess of uncontrollable energy that was Toe. That is, until you got him talking about his research, or his bothers. It was adorable really, to see him light up so intensely about the things he really cared about. Thomas just nursed his beer as he listened to his friend explain what his research was about. The measure of energy would probably serve the school, and the meta community, a great deal in understanding how to control abilities. That was the other thing - Conrad didn’t busy himself with meaningless work. He had a passion for things that would make a difference.

“Whenever you need me, man, I’m ‘ere. “ he responded, and watched as Conrad realized the extent of his intensity while telling Thomas’ his research. “Hours? I think days would be more accurate.” he said, smushing his face in a goofy laugh, and sticking his tongue out jokingly. His expression became more somber as the subject of his training came to light. He was more nervous then he let on about it, mostly due to a discussion he had previously with a teacher at his school. He felt less in control of his powers than he did when he graduated, being compared to the staff at the school. They had so many years of experience, practical experience. And while they were off fighting meta supremacists - the students were on lock down. No wonder he felt so miniscule.

“She gets to decide when my training is over.” he said, extending his lip sideways in a grimace. That meant it could go on forever. He could never have a class to himself. Conrad, being the chill, analytical type he was began to speak on the reality of working with unharnessed superpowers, and the destruction it could bring.

“Geeze man, don’t make the job seem too appealing.” he added, smiling to lighten the conversation. “Maybe I’ll make you sit in, and you can measure JUST how much destruction takes place.”

[Conrad Manne]

Conrad grinned, a little embarrassed about rambling. He hadn't seen his friend in ages, and all he could talk about was work? He had to be careful, or he was going to turn into Esme. "Sorry, I won't subject you to it that much." That's what Alex was for. (And yeah, the researcher knew better than to promise that he wouldn't talk forever about his research.)

"If you're training Jean or RC, absolutely. But it depends on who you're working with," Conrad shrugged, but he already knew who he'd want to sit in on a few training sessions. He didn't know Honor, but he knew where most of the really troublesome students were assigned. (And that's why he'd never asked to observe Chase Kilbourne's class. Poor man had to deal with Vincent Verax.) "Remember Vincent?" He was only a few years younger than them, and it looked like the kid would be at Hammel forever. "He's still around, so if Mr. Kilbourne wants to trade a class with you, don't do it."

As he spoke, he looked around the bar a little warily. Yeah, it was Pilot Ridge, the unofficial Meta capital of the country. But that didn't mean that everyone in the area knew about what the fancy private school up the road actually did. "So other than potential calamity at work," Now that he was thinking about it, Conrad wanted to be a bit more discrete with their conversation, "What else has been going on?" Most of his own time was spent at work or hanging out with Alex (and sometimes Ann) or his brothers. He took another swig of beer and looked up at the door as a few more people came into the bar, including a pair of girls who looked like they were barely old enough to be there.

[Thomas Lajoie]

To be honest, Thomas was never irritated to hear Conrad talk about work - but he understood too well what would happen if he himself rambled about that which was prevalent in his day to day life. They’d be sitting and talking about how much Thomas was sure the cafeteria staff at the school were plotting against him to try and get back at him for the years of food fights he had instigated. Or, perhaps, how closely one of the potato chips he was eating the other day resembled Conan O’Brian and the possible profit one could make off a potato-by-product-celebrity-look-alike. These were the things Thomas felt passionately about at the moment, and he certainly was not about to bring them up, so Conrad’s restraint was something he understood.

He was right, though, about your students being wholly indicative of the experience you have in training. If you had a class of pheromone manipulators, the class could end in an insane orgy - or if your class could manipulate molecular stability, everyone might cease to exist. This kind of thing was the only reason Thomas didn’t run away from Honor screaming. She knew how to deal with these things, and soon he would too.
Then the name came into play, the name that seemed to haunt the lips of all the staff and students at Hammel alike. Vincent. “So ‘elp me, if that boy comes to my training session, I will fall ill in a matter of moments. No chance. I respect myself too much.” he said, half laughing with a swig of beer in his mouth.

As the topic began to shift, Thomas noticed his ability to respond with any length or enthusiasm dwindled. What was going on in his life outside of Hammel? He had immersed himself so completely in his work that he took no time to have fun, to meet new people, or to even connect with the people he knew well. “As sad as it is,” he began, “I’m not sure I’ve done much outside of work. Once I ‘ave a secured position, I’ll be trying ‘arder to get out more.” It was true, but it served him little comfort.

What did help, though, was seeing the teeny boppers come in the door not too far from them. “Oh god... I’m guessing 16, tops. Ten bucks they won’t be served.” he said, turning his head to Conrad and lifting an eyebrow. They both had jobs now, what was the harm in a little bet.

[Conrad Manne]

"From what I hear, he doesn't even need to be at Hammel anymore. He's got his power perfectly under control." Unfortunately, that was the only thing Mr. Verax had under control. His behavior, his libido, and his mouth were all in need of some good discipline. "But since he doesn't have a degree and isn't twenty-one yet, they don't want to kick him out." Eventually though, Conrad was sure the miscreant would be thrown out to deal with things on his own.

The researcher nodded in agreement. He totally understood where the trainer was coming from. During his own first few months at Hammel, his only socialization came from hanging out with Alex and occasionally making dinner for his brothers. The rest of his life was dedicated to proving he could be a qualified scientist. "Yeah, I totally get that. All work and no play brings in a better paycheck." Conrad had been able to get out a bit more recently, but really, going out for a drink was still an anomaly. (He'd had a fake ID in college, but he'd never used it. He'd been too worried about the possible consequences of getting caught to use it. Imagine having to tell his mother about that...)

Conrad raised an eyebrow and nodded again. "You're on. And the blonde one is sixteen, the other one is seventeen." All he really needed was one good look at them, and then his power calculated how old they were. It would have been useful if he was the type to go clubbing and/or hookup in college.

But that one good look hadn't gone unnoticed. Now the two were looking over at them and giggling. Great. "Uh, I think they know we're looking." Of course, the two teenagers took that moment as their cue head over towards them. Conrad raised an eyebrow; if their plan was to get him or Thomas to buy drinks, then they would soon be disappointed.

[Thomas Lajoie]

Thomas laughed as Conrad went on about Vincent - equally as baffled that the schools tolerance of him as been so substantial. "Could you imagine if I 'ad to discipline Verax? He'd probably punch me out. And I wouldn't mind. I'd rather be unconscious." he added onto the spiel his friend had just given. Discipline was going to be one of the hardest aspects of his job, he could tell already. He has trouble even giving people dirty looks when they cut him in line. To say that he was easily walked over was definitely an understatement.

His giggles continued as Conrad discussed pay as well. While he was working on groundbreaking science, Thomas was essentially being given an internship - and he was hoping for Conrad's sake that the pay difference was pretty drastic. He was able to live comfortably in his apartment with Sloane, but luxuries were often passed on. Except for going out with friends - one never passes up the chance to be inebriated with those closest to them. "I'm just 'oping to keep getting a paycheck. Especially with 'onor on my case." he added, legitimately unsure if she would pass him into trainerhood or not.

Thomas sighed and rolled his eyes as Conrad corrected his attempt at guessing the ages of the two girls. Betting on most things was a futile attempt when dealing with Conrad, really. He could probably analyze the body language of the bartender to find out long before he did if the girls would be served. They were young, seemingly attractive females, however, which gave them a fighting chance.

As if attempting to toy with the two most unwilling men in the bar, the two girls headed over their way. Thomas was immediately mortified at the idea of having to let these girls off easy, but perhaps he didn't need to. Maybe they'd leave on their own accord.

"Bon soir, mademoiselles! Qu'est ce que vous faites ce soir?" he asked, hoping they'd turn the other way in sheer confusion.

[Conrad Manne]

Sorry, Thomas. Conrad wasn't being paid particularly well either. But it was a decent enough salary for now, for a student just out of college. And it was likely that if he went on to do graduate work, he'd get enough grant money to cover it. For now, he had enough to pay for his living expenses and a few small luxuries. (Yeah, the occasional drink was carefully budgeted.) "Good luck with that. I was worried my first few months, because the Head Researcher left and I wasn't sure if they were going to bring in someone new who would kick me out."

Of course, that didn't happen.

Thomas's solution to ward the teenagers off made Conrad laugh into his beer. He didn't know French; German had been his foreign language elective when he was at Hammel and he'd never been particularly stellar at it. For all he knew--and for all the girls knew, for the confusion evident in their faces--Thomas could have told them exactly why their mission was hopeless. He tried to keep face as he nodded, as if he understood whatever the other man was saying. He'd sprout off some faux-French gibbrish, but there was no way he'd be able to do that with a straight face, and he wouldn't be able to properly mimic a French accent either.

The girls looked at them and then at each other, before the seventeen-year-old started speaking very slowly and loudly. (As if that was the reason someone who didn't speak English might not understand.) "Do you speak English?" And if that weren't enough, she made exaggerated hand motions that were pretty abstract.

It was all too much for Conrad. He cracked up and put his beer back down on the bar, worried he was going to drop it and have it shatter. "Sorry, but that's just..." When he finally stopped chuckling, he tried to speak again. "Sorry, ladies. No, my friend here doesn't speak English, and saying things slower really doesn't help."

There, at least Thomas was somewhat off the hook.

[Thomas Lajoie]

Thomas was lucky to have some experience having to maintain his composure - you had to essentially look like you had a stick up your ass to appease a ballet teacher. He maintained a serious composure even as his friend was laughing into the beer he was drinking, and totally blowing any chance he had with these girls. Thomas knew Conrad wasn't interested - even with their ages aside. Conrad was not about to pick up a girl at a bar, and Thomas would see to it that these girls posed a distraction to them no more.

Thomas exchanged puzzled looks between the girls and Conrad, and finished with his eyes fixed on his friend's. He brought up his free hand to rest on top of Conrad's knee, and leaned in slightly as he made an effort to look as comfortable with Conrad as possible. He wasn't sure how Conrad would react - but getting the girls to think they were together was one hell of a way to send them elsewhere.

"Je ne comprend pas, mon cheri." he spoke, elongated the last two words to ensure the girls heard them. Surely they had heard such an over-quoted term of endearment in their albeit short lives.

[Conrad Manne]

Usually, the researcher was good at being serious. He could focus on things and concentrate at work, and often he was the one keeping Jean from driving RC up the wall. But for some reason, he just couldn't keep a straight face.

Until, that is, Thomas came up with his plan.

There was a moment where Conrad just stared at Thomas and blinked once, wondering what, exactly, the trainer was doing with his hand on his knee. Of course, he knew his friend was gay, and that didn't bother him. It bothered him when people got...touchy. He took the celibacy thing seriously.

But almost as fast, the confusion passed. This would probably get the girls out of there quickly, if it worked. If he could keep a straight face.

Only a moment after Thomas came up with his "brilliant" plan, Conrad smiled at him and leaned in towards him as well, bringing his arm up around the trainer's shoulders. "Pardon. It's nothing, dear. Non."

As expected, the girls didn't question that Conrad obviously wasn't capable of speaking French any more than they were. They just kind of exchanged glances, then the blonde one mumbled something like, "Uh...nevermind," before they walked to the other end of the bar, presumably to try their luck with the bartender.

With the smile still plastered on his face, Conrad muttered, "Do not tell Alex."